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Mated To The Vikens (Interstellar Brides Book 8)(6)

By:Grace Goodwin



Gunnar scowled but did not refute Rolf’s claim. I stared at the empty transport pad and thought of our mate. “Her name is Sophia. Her hair is long and golden, like the bark of a Nerbu tree. Her eyes are dark brown, nearly as dark as Gunnar’s.”

I stopped speaking then as my cock hardened in my pants. Her body was small but well curved, her breasts just large enough to fill both my hands. Her small, tight ass begged to be spanked a bright pink. Her lips were full and a deep rose color I hungered to taste.

“Erik?” Rolf leaned forward, amusement on his face, waiting.

“What?”

“Golden hair and dark eyes. What else?” He circled his hand to get me to continue.

I shook my head and adjusted my cock in my pants. “You were too lazy to look for yourself, you’ll just have to wait.”

“Transport imminent,” the attendant said.

Gunnar shrugged and turned to stare at the platform. We all did as the familiar humming vibration started. The buzzing sensation traveled up through my boots and into my legs as the transport pad powered up, ready to receive our new bride.

“I hope this isn’t a huge fucking mistake.” Rolf’s worry was one I shared. But the Bride Program’s testing was practically infallible. It matched not only to obvious likes and dislikes, but subconscious ones as well. And considering she’d also been matched to Gunnar, I eagerly awaited our first chance to fuck her. Gunnar belonged to an exclusive order of warriors who needed to dominate their lovers. If Sofia had been matched to us, then I couldn’t wait to discover her reaction to my firm hand on her bare bottom or my cock filling her from behind as Gunnar or Rolf claimed her wet pussy.

“If this is a mistake, we will endure and honor our Queen’s wishes.” Gunnar’s grumbling response was typical. Do what needed to be done. That was Gunnar. His philosophy made him merciless in battle, and in bed. We’d shared women before, many times, but it was always Gunnar whose quiet and ruthless temperament broke them open, who made them writhe and beg and scream for release. I had neither the patience nor the desire to own any woman’s soul. Gunnar had a collection, a pool of pets eager to answer any time he called. He loved none of them, had sworn to turn them all away once we claimed a mate. And he would. He might be a surly bastard, but there was no one more honorable.

I sincerely hoped our Sophia would be able to handle what Gunnar would demand of her. She would. The matching would see to it.

Me? I wanted to fuck a beautiful female, to fill her with my seed and mark her as my own. Having both Gunnar and Rolf to help me protect what was mine—ours—made our forced match easier to accept.

No matter what happened, she would be safe. Protected. Civil war brewed on Viken, and I would not take a mate knowing she might be left unprotected like my mother had been. My mother’s fate would not befall another.

“Receiving transport.” The technician’s voice held excitement, anticipation. The arrival of an Interstellar Bride was always celebrated on Viken, for it happened rarely, and only once before from Earth. That had been the Queen. Most of our warriors mated before they came home from the war with the Hive, or chose a bride from their home sector.

I stepped forward as her outline took shape on the transport pad. Luscious curves wrapped in a dark red dress. As the transport light faded, Gunnar stepped forward to inspect our bride, but I lifted my hand to stop him. He stilled feet from her.

“Don’t. Something is wrong.” The woman’s back was to us, but her hair was a dark auburn instead of nearly black. And before her, I saw movement, as if she were not alone.



***



Sophia



I expected being transported to be something like watching an old Star Trek TV show, where Spock disappeared in one place and reappeared in another. For me, it was like being put under for a surgery and waking up somewhere new with no memory of how I had arrived. The last thing I remembered was the warden counting backwards. Now, I was being dragged across a cold floor. My brain too sluggish to react, I did not resist.

“What the fuck are we going to do? She’s not the fucking Queen. Where’s the damn baby?” one man shouted from just above my head as he dragged me by my arms. Seconds later, the cruel grip of the unknown man released me and I slumped back onto the floor, my head striking just hard enough to make me wish I were still unconscious. The air was cool, but not cold. Humid. It smelled like churned earth, as if a garden had been tilled. It was an unexpected scent, but it was obvious I wasn’t in the antiseptic testing center in Miami any longer.

The panicked tone of the man’s voice had me thinking something went wrong. I opened my eyes, blinking them a few times, trying to regain my wits after what felt like a really long nap.

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